Time Bits
by GJFH
Summary: A series of snippts about our favorite characters and their childhoods, in and out of Odyssey. A lil' creative licence included, I warn. The general rating will apply to all ages, though I'll make a note otherwise if necessary.
1. Fume

okay, so this is the first piece of a series i'm gonna be doing. it's really short, but there will be longer chapters in the distant future? and Eugene should be up next, since my brain already decided on it.

* * *

The first time Jason ever got in a fistfight was in the eighth grade, when one of his classmates called all those Soldiers deployed to Vietnam 'cruel baby killers.' It was between his house and his school on a warm Wednesday afternoon and they had stopped to argue on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, Jason didn't feel better at all when he punched the kid, who he knew deserved it. Todd, the bully, lurched forward, looking as if he was going to fall. Then he grabbed hold of Jason's shirt and pulled him fast towards the pavement.

They ended up having a brief scuffle on the ground, and Jason was the first to pull away, suddenly feeling sick inside his stomach, not due to the dark blood that streamed from his nose.

There was both his and the other kid's blood on his hands.

Jenny had been disappointed. "This isn't like you." She said, and even if Jason hadn't done something like this before, he wondered if it was like him, since he had thought about it before. He didn't know when the anger started, but at some point it had, and found it tempting to storm.

"You know what he said." He argued pointlessly, tiredly.

"That's not an excuse." She sighed, and her gaze burned. Hazel eyes vibrant shades. He thought she was more upset since Whit hadn't been as vocal as she had, that he hadn't reiterated that no matter what anyone said about Jerry, violence wasn't an answer. "You know that's not an excuse, Jason. Having self control is one of the-" She paused to take a breath, and he willed himself not to look away. "Most important things you'll ever need to learn, to gain respect, and live a life worthy of the calling."

"Mom."

"You can't react like that, no matter if the person does deserve it." Jason's shoulders slumped. Part of him knew she was right, above else, and above else said justice had to lose control sometimes.


	2. Identity

"Eugene!" Katrina was up to her elbows in gritty black dust, her was nose stuffed up, and she was tired. "Eugene!" Another moment passed before his quick but evenly timed steps could be heard on the stairs. Just before he stepped in, she worked her expression into something more serious, yet the effect was soon lost. Eugene's face was bright, and a lock of hair had fallen in between his narrow nose. No doubt he had been teaching Buck how to repair the old computer they had salvaged from Hagler's junkyard.

"Katrina," He gasped. "I apologize for the wait - it is entirely - my fault."

"Could you take this, please? I can't reach this and it's all lost to gravity." She indicated with a shrug of her right shoulder. Eugene breathed heavily once more, before striding over and pushing the boxes back into order on the dirty shelf.

"Oh my."

"You're telling me." Katrina blew on her fingers, rubbed raw, in an effort to alleviate the burning. "Never mind telling me why you were busy...is there a way we can clean this out, a little?"

"Are you referring to the various reports, assignments, and awards during my high school and college years?" Eugene asked dubiously, though maybe he was not so doubtful as he sounded.

"Yes, Eugene."

"Oh." He rubbed at his glasses without speaking.

"I know your foster parents had the same issue several years ago, and I wasn't planning on throwing it all out, just organizing it properly?" She had to wonder why he already had not taken hours to do that, knowing him. "Honey?"

"I suppose the present is as good as time as any." He said cheerfully.

"Are you sure?" And he had nodded. They began with one labelled "FRESHMAN."

High school for her seemed a lifetime ago, which meant for him it had to be an eternity. The first pieces were signed by a hyper intelligent nine year old, and if one was just looking at the where the blanks had been filled in, they couldn't tell. Yet there were jokes on either side of the work, told straightforward, and there were various childlike doodles on several. Eugene admitted on focusing on ending that habit at one point.

"Is this a can opener?"

"It's actually an invention I was building at the time. This was something of a blue print. It didn't work as I expected, nonetheless, it sharpened pencils at an amazing rate." They both chuckled. There were plenty seemingly random formuli where Eugene had gotten excited again about math and science. During physics he had asked question after question, regardless of whether it related with what they were learning and the teacher had taken the effort to answer most in a messy scrawl. Eugene smiled softly with the memory.

"Miss. James," He spoke. "She was extremely patient with her students, and although she was ill a portion of the time I was in her class, it never showed."

"Who was your favorite teacher in high school?' Katrina's interest was piqued.

"Mrs. Vistica, she taught English." Eugene flipped through a yearbook on their right until he came across a woman with long dark hair and eyes, beaming. "She brought me books on language, grammar, and even philosophy, then we would discuss them, barring in mind she didn't have anything afterward. She always pushed me to study more."

"Mm."

"I did worry that -" He stopped himself. The truth was, he became concerned after a while, that Mrs. Vistica in particular and the others who offered him help only cared that he succeeded, since it would poorly reflect on the school's credibility if he did otherwise. He had been the youngest student to graduate there. Katrina was looking at him and he realized her arms were still spotted with the attic dust.

"What?" She tilted her head slightly and he gently put his hand on hers.

"It sounds slightly ridiculous now, yet, for a lengthy time, my entire identity around working to impress my teachers, my foster parents, even my peers, who weren't the friendliest at times."

"Doesn't seem that ridiculous, since that's how a lot of people live." Spoke Katrina, allowing him a chance to sigh.

"I know that know. Though it's taken half a life time, and God having to humble me." A full minute had passed, and Eugene was stacking things back into the box when Buck poked his head in.

"Wow." He said at first sight. "Do y'all need help in here?"

"I think we're-" Eugene started and Katrina nudged him with her leg. "Buck, unless you wish to continue our task, you could help organize things from my time in high school and when I was in college. A grin spread across Buck's face.

"'Course, and if you have some pictures of when you were younger."

"He's got tons."

"Not 2,000." Murmured Eugene on account of that word's misuse being a major pet peeve of his.

They spent the remainder of that Friday in exploration, working to clean after a while, and ordering a pizza, which was a rare occurrence. It was warm enough that the three could sit outside, cold enough that Katrina sat against Eugene, stealing his jacket. Buck perched on the step, watching as the bright colors in the sky faded with the sky. Eugene realized, slowly, he had never expected to be there. He had waited in expectation, and hoped for prestige and success, not necessarily the wrong things to want. Yet he had learned success was a subjective term, and the day he met Katrina, there was something else distracting him from his goals.

It was John Whittaker at first, who had posed as an inconvenience, and the idea that there was something greater out there than what he could ever hope for. Then it was her, who made him want something personal, aside from his textbooks and his computers. Life had not gone as he envisioned, that was certainly true. God had taken him completely outside of his comfort zone, and Eugene had never been more sure then what his identity was then following him.

* * *

 **AN: I was going to write something Thanksgiving-y at the last minute but I ran out of time...which means I have a few partly done pieces I might work on later. :) November is almost over and I want to sleep for a week, but Nanowrimo isn't yet over and I'm going to be writing a lot anyway so if anyone reading this has an idea in particular they'd like me to write out or a character they think deserves the spotlight please let me know. I do have ideas, it's just also great having conversation about aio with aio fans. Which reminds me that Odyssey is now 30 years old!? Whack. And, I'm having a really tough time understanding how to write about faith and Christianity and personal struggles without it looking like I'm tacking things on. *heavy sigh***

 **Feel free to drop me a review. They're like food.**

 **Happy 26 days to Christmas guys.**


	3. Licorice

A/N This takes place after Eugene returned from hiding with Katrina, in the aftermath of all Novacom affected. It's a period where we don't know all the details.

* * *

The first time Eugene met Wooton Bassett, he felt as if he had close to a hundred things on his mind, although he had not been working for long. It was nearly two weeks since he had gotten his memory back, longer still, since he returned to Odyssey. Katrina had insisted he recover, and she was not the only one who did. Between his time wandering their apartment and the occasional project Mr. Whittaker was gracious to enlist him on, Eugene was seriously missing working at Whit's End. The interaction with the kids, the banter with Connie, and general air of excitement, which was a strangely comforting and familiar thing. They planned to officially celebrate his return on had been bustling around the kitchen with a stack of cones in his left hand, and a sundae and ice cream scoop in the right. The striped apron he wore had collected a few stains in the last hour.

"May I ask whose sundae is this?" Eugene called out in order to be heard above the loud conversations and the sound of dishes clanking.

"Ooh, is that the Very Berry one?" Sarah Prachett asked, raising a hand.

"Miss Prachett, I do not think -" He turned, ducking to find a spoon beneath the counter, and incidentally struck his head on the edge of the counter. The delayed sharp ache shook his skull suddenly, and he gasped.

"Eugene? You okay?" Leaning over, Sarah's eyes widened.

"Well, I live." Breathing deep, Eugene set the bowl of ice cream by the register. His stomach was turning at the idea any incident could have in affecting his memory, it was possible, though not likely, he thought. The front door opened then, the silver bell chiming as it had many times that day. Dressed in a baggy, light blue uniform, a figure came up to the counter. The bottom half of his face was obscured by a cardboard box.

"You must be Eugene Melstnord." The man said, gently setting the box down, and giving a friendly, if not a little shy smile.

"Melstner." Due to the pained expression he wore, the frown that gathered at his lips, later, he realized how inhospitable he may have looked. "I'll be with you in a moment." He curled a hand around the side of his skull, by his ear.

"Oh, are you okay?"

"Satisfactory." Eugene got out, his words punctuated a sharp breath. He dropped his hands to grip the counter, working to steady himself until the pain seemed relinquish the majority of its hold.

"I'm Wooton Bassett, it's a dirigible, I think." The man said as if he had been mulling it over for quite some time. "Are you having a migraine?"

"What?"

"A migraine, my mom used to have them, sometimes."

"No, I do know what they-" He stopped. "I apologize, I did not intend to seem unfriendly. Yes, I am Eugene, and I take it that you're the Mail Man that Mr. Whittaker spoke highly of to me?"

"He...talks about me?" Asked Wooton.

"Oh, yes." Eugene nodded. "Would you give me a moment?" He received a nod as an answer, and hastily took to dishing out ice cream and ensuring Sarah had her sundae. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Same here. Hearing about all the super secret government work you were involved in." The other man still looked in shock, his voice dropping when Eugene cleared his throat. "Anyways, is there anything I can do to help?"

"What?" Eugene startled.

"Well, I gotta help Connie and Nick were working, and it was busy. But I'm still a stranger to you so if you say no I completely understand." Shutting the lid to the freezer, Eugene shook his head. His tongue tripped over the "n" in no.

"I would appreciate your help, yes, if you're willing."

* * *

Eugene pulled the mop and its bucket out of the closet, and gave it to Wooton who beheld it as if it were far more than a cleaning tool.

"I'll get right on it." He did good on that. Within minutes, the once sticky floors shone, and the two almost overfull trashes had been taken out. Still behind the counter, Eugene had finished a transaction, and noticed the mail man bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Mr. Bassett, I thank you for volunteering your services."

"Happy to help."

"It appears as if Whit's End has become less hectic, is there anyway I can repay you?" He asked. A brow furrowed between Wooton's eyebrows.

"Nah, you don't have to that."

"What if I wanted to though?" Eugene said, just before Wooton's stomach grumbled loud enough for him to hear. There was a long silence.

"Uh, well, if you're offering, might you carry licorice?"


	4. Into Motion

I have a serious issue with coming up with headcanons for interactions between the Whittakers and the Allens. This would be one of the ones closer to canon imho.

* * *

Jack volunteered to pick up Jason from school that day, not having spent time with him in several months, and being fortunate with a few extra hours off work. He waited with the parking lot, fiddling with the radio at first before turning it off and settling in. It was one of his newest aspirations to be left in silence more, rather jump to filling the space, avoiding the worries that crept it. They would come, of course, which gave him ample opportunity to focus on praying consistently no matter the time of day. Jack sighed, bowing his head slightly until there was a knock on the opposite side of the car. With a single hand in his pocket, Jason stood tentatively outside in the shade, keeping his expression neutral. The dirt staining his light colored pants did not go unnoticed.

"Hey, Uncle Jack."

"Hey Jason, good to see you," Jack said, reaching over to unlock the door. "How was school?" The teen shrugged, slowly pulling himself into the leather seat.

"It was fine. How've you been?"

"I've been well, tired, although I'm glad to see you."

"I thought..."

"You thought, what?"

"I just thought mom was going to pick me up, and I'd get to practice driving. Sorry, that sounds selfish." Said Jason, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea.

"Well, she had to run to the church and help out with one of the women's groups, and please, it's fine, I guess I understand you weren't expecting to see me."

"That's not it." Jason's eyes widened. "Seriously? I always love hanging out with you."

"Right." Said Jack, his word punctuated with a laugh. "Again, may I ask how school was?" And, he wondered, why he had came out as late as he had. Odyssey High School got out at 3:25, and it was past 3:45 when Jason had finally reached the edge of the parking lot.

"School was school." He rubbed a hand along the back of his head, bright blue eyes avoiding Jack's gaze. Goodness, he had grown, Jack realized with a shock. Not in height alone, but his face had matured as well.

"I'm not sure I know what that means."

"Well, there was this thing I tried out for," Jason said, waiting for Jack to nod before he continued. "And you know dad always says you don't shouldn't give up on something before you try it? I tried out for the varsity baseball team, and…I didn't make it. I worked so hard, stayed after school to practice, went to the gym, even asked Tom Riley to help teach me, Uncle Jack. I've been training for months ." There was a brief note of panic in his voice. Jack took a deep breath, his attention turned to the tree-lined streets ahead of him, if only for safety reasons.

"Ah, Jason. You don't have to try and convince me of that." The older man shook his head. "Did you want to play on that team?"

"Yes. Maybe."

"So you worked hard for the tryouts, you poured everything you had into training, but it might not have been God's will for you to join the team." Jack said gently, and Jason frowned, despite himself.

"It's kind of hard to imagine God cares about something like that." His tone suggested he was more confused than bitter.

"He does, because he knows ultimately what's best for us, and I can't pretend to know His plans, please know that, but there other things I'm sure you can try out." He did give Jason his attention now, and was about to say something else, searching for the right words.

"UNCLE JACK LOOK OUT." Barely avoiding getting whiplash, he swerved to avoid an oncoming car, his foot close to slamming on the brake pedal. The car shook hard, and the two were almost instantly deafened by the sound of a car horn. Jack pulled to the far end of their lane, slowing, as the danger had passed.

"Woah." He worked on leveling his breathing, glancing into the rear view mirror to see Jason leaning forward, gripping the armrest tight enough his knuckles had turned white.

"Are you okay?" Asked Jason before he could.

"I'm fine, just a little shook up." He said, giving a thin smile. "You?" Jason nodded.

"That was almost like in...never mind."

"Sorry."

"Honestly, it may have been the other driver's fault, I think he was driving kind of erratically."

"I can't say I was paying attention, though." Turning left at the corner, Jack scanned the area carefully for incoming traffic, even as it was a usually quiet part of town. The fifteen year old didn't speak again until they were at the Whittaker's street.

"Do you think I should talk to the coach?"

"...That's up to you."

"So you don't." Jack lowered his brows.

"Jason, I can't tell you what to do and not to do, besides, you hardly listen when I try anyway." He teased. "Well, this is your stop." Pulling up in front of the older house, he motioned to the sidewalk with a free hand.

"But you have to come too." Jason said stubbornly, pulling his backpack into his lap and not yet opening the door.

"Oh, alright, I suppose I could come in for a moment." The second Jason stepped onto the curb, he nearly face planted onto the concrete, recovering after a bated breath, he stuck a hand into the air.

"'M'fine. It's just been a long day."

"Come on, then." Jack settled a hand on his shoulder. "We could toss a ball around in the back if you want."

"Maybe."

"That's not the most confident reply." Said Jack, stepping behind Jason and into the house, still almost hesitantly. He had been overwhelmed with work in the last two months, the majority spent in North Carolina where he had and Whit grew up. He pulled his shoes off, shaking his head as Jason kicked his to the side, shaking a pair of dirty cleats out of his bag and scowling at them. "We don't have to."

"You know what," Jason said, as he faced Jack. "I was thinking of something else. Do you happen to have any spare wood lying around?"

* * *

A/N I really don't know whether people are reading these, but I always appreciate any time someone takes to review something I've written.


	5. Chapter 5

Origin Story

7:55 a.m. found Wooton Bassett on the steps of Odyssey's leading, and only comic book store at the corner of 7th and Main. Where between the cracks in the pavement, weeds were beginning to grow up, and the sun pushed its way through the holes in the fence. Wringing his hands, and hopping from one foot to the other, he glanced down towards his Avengers watch, confirming what he already had assumed. A rattle at the door startled him, the man with bushy white hair on the inside inserting the key to the lock. Wooton waved, and there was a visible sigh emitted, but the owner nodded to him all the same.

"Good morning!" Wooton said cheerfully, stepping in as soon as the door was swung open. "Mr. Morenov, My name is Wooton Bassett, and I'm kinda new to Odyssey, but I love it already. Anyways, uh, I'm here to talk to you about something business related," Morenov raised an eyebrow.

"Morning, well, I'm glad you like it. What can I do for you, Mr. Bassett?"

"It's Wooton." He said, his nervousness returning. Cracking his knuckles, he glanced around the small, thought well lit shop. Bright, animated posters covered the walls, shelves were filled with comics upon comics. Figures from various cartoons and series enclosed behind glass cases, and what looked like a Captain America action figure from 60's behind the counter. Wooton's jaw dropped. "Is that a…?" He held a shaking hand up.

"The Mego Captain America with Fly-Away-Action?" Morenov chuckled, his slightly accented voice infused with pride. "Yes, I've had that for a long time." He said as he stepped behind the display and behind the work surface, gently rubbing the blue and white fabric with the tip of his thumb.

"Where on earth did you find it?" Pulled from his temporary stupor, Wooton set the bag he had been holding down.

"Why? You want to buy it?" Asked Morenov.

"What? Oh, no." Wooton shook his head, accidentally snorting as he spoke. "Just wondering, 'cause most people don't realize how valuable those are."

"Hm. It has always been valuable to me. My papa bought it for me soon after we came to America. A friend from school had the comics and we read them together after school almost every day. On Fridays, the corner store got new ones, and I was there as soon as I could." He smiled at the memory. Wooton stepped forward to catch a better look, whistling in appreciation. "Now, what business do you speak of? What can I do? You seemed a hurry to get in." Morenov asked Wooton, whose watch let him know almost five minutes had passed.

"It's about something I made, it'd mean the world to me if you could." He reached down towards the paper bag, and Morenov leaned over, looking slightly suspicious. A dozen glossy, fresh smelling comics Wooton laid on the counter. A curly haired kid on the cover with a red helmet, standing valiantly on top of a tall building. Bold letters across the sunny sky.

"What is...PowerBoy?" Morenov wondered, glancing up at Wooton..

"This is a comic series I wrote, and even published, see?" He said, not being able to keep could excitement from his voice, turning one of them on its thin spine.

"Hmm. I see."

"I just wanted to know, possibly, if I can get to selling these here. The only other way I know of without letting people know is trying the bookstore on the other side of town. That Holstein's. But they tend to not carry books on superheroes." He shuddered.

"These are all you have?"

"No, I have more. I was thinking-"

"And who drew this?" Morenov asked, referring to the art inside. Wooton's face was beginning to turn red. He drew a hand behind his head to rub at his neck.

"Uh, I did."

"Give me time to read this and I'll get back to you. Do you have a card, Mr...Bassett?" He already was reading the first chapter.

"Wooton." Drawing in a breath, his heart thudding arrhythmically, he asked; "You mean, you'll sell them?"

"I do intend to try."

"Whew. Oh, yeah, wow. I should have somewhere..." He twisted around, fumbling until his fingers pried the flat card from his pocket. "My Great-Aunt Winifred always said-" Morenov took the card, nodding his thanks.

"Wait." Wooton said. "I got one extremely important condition. You can't tell anyone who wrote these. It's, it's something I don't people to know, they can't know, please."

"You don't want…?" The store keeper drew his thick eyebrows together. "Alright, yes, I understand. It'll be between just you and I." Of course, already, Wooton's name wasn't to be found in a single issue of PowerBoy, just that of the company printing it, and his editor.

* * *

Not terribly long after, Wooton stepped out of the shop, almost into the street. He glanced backwards to see the store owner add Wooton's own works to a display. Breathing a sigh of relief, he settled down on a bench, pulling out a worn print he had since childhood. The front cover held a messy scrawl, penned by a thick marker, the last letter's tail swooping across the page. Stan Lee had signed it more than a decade ago when he had wanted so badly to go to the Comic Conference in Anchorage and his father had scoffed at the idea. At the last moment, his grandfather had stood up and packed him a suitcase full of what he considered the essentials.

"I'm taking him." Grandpa Bassett said, and that was that, no matter how his father had fumed. In the chaos surrounding their family, Wooton had been unable to escape, and this allowed him to breathe again. His grandfather was far more patient than he was used to people being. Grandpa Bassett may not have been a superhero fan but he wholeheartedly endorsed his grandson's love for them.

By the time he, Wooton, was in high-school he started his own mini-series, sending them, or the artwork, as often as every month to his grandfather, and receiving the best of feedback. During the days he could hardly be motivated to do anything, he just laid on his bed watching cartoons, sometimes flipping through the Bible Grandpa Bassett had given him. There was always a villain present, evident in the battles he wrote out with his characters, evident with the heaviness that weighed him down.

The devil is roaming the earth, he was told, seeking to devour, seeking to deceive. Could a monster like that exist? He asked.

"Monster...is an interesting term. He was once an angel, you know. I don't want you to think he isn't smart, that isn't fully aware of what he's doing. He's real, you know, but our King is too, and He cannot be overcome. Jesus conquered death, you know that, Wooton. Good will win in the end." His grandfather said, leaning forward in his office chair. There was such a fierce look in his brown eyes, then. The passion with which he spoke Wooton wanted so badly to feel.

His father said they were myths and fables and whatever word he could throw.

Wooton still struggled afterwards even with his faith. There was also the problem of trying to find a way to incorporate hope and truth within his stories, but writing them filled him with such happiness he kept at it. There was the villains, the heroes, there was the light there.

* * *

A/N The part about the Captain America Figure isn't 100% true. That would have been made during the early seventies, but for the timing here, I moved it back at least five years. This was intended at first to only capture when and how Wooton's comics first became popular, but there's so much behind all that, about why he's so invested in superheroes. I debated including his mom in this one, but I didn't want to complicate the story.

Reviews are always greatly appreciated. Constructive or whatever comes to mind. ^_^


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